Whole No. 2392, I TERMS OF SFBSCRIPTIOy. OYE DOLLAR PER A\M N, IN ADVANCE. For six months, 75 cents. i£s=>,\ll NEW subscriptions must be paid in | advance. If the paper is continued, and m t tpaid within the first month, $ 1 ,'25 will be charg ed ; if not paid in three months, $1,50; if not paid in six months, $1,75; and il not paid in months, §'2,00. | All papers addressed to persons out of the Ifeounty will be discontinued at the expiration of gjf the time paid for, unless special request is made I to the contrary or payment guaranteed by some B responsible person here. ADVERTISING. Ten lines of minion, or their equivalent, con- Bstitute a square. Three insertions sl, and 25 H cents for each subsequent insertion. lAili) ilililjl'J'ibd, tOXTI.MEU. fpHE elections being over and the excitement 1 1 attending them passed away, and it being Considered dangerous nowadays to keep on hand iiank notes, the proprietor of the People's Store fvvould again invite attention to his magnificent Repository for replenishing the outer man and on the scientific principle of saving inonev, which accommodating establishment is in Fast Market street, and can readily be distinguished from all others by its piles of aieauliful goods and wares and "that sign," Jtvhich, like the Star spangled banner, is fanned V)> every breeze. The Ladies, gentlemen, mer tliants, traders, farmers, laborers, and all oth ers are therefore invited to a grand display (>/- inission free) ola most extensive, beautiful, and Aheap stock of Staple and Fancy Goods. The will remain open every morning, af- Sernoon anil evening until further notice, and ad concerned are requested to call early and 'procure good seats. The pei forma nee COIII . ,inenc.es early in the morning wiji an exquisite Ijinelo-drama entitled X33FGOODS, t ii'ijirising in part Broche Silks, 75 cents; Ging plains from 6j to 25 cents; White Goods, such Swiss, Victoria. Lawn, Bishop Lawn, India Ji.ii.l- Muslins, Brilliants. Swiss and Jaconet flllginrs and Insertings, Flouneings, Collars and V ffctsevc. Cti alleys, Bareges, Mohair Mitts, Silk %ud Kid Gloves, Hosiery, and hundreds of olh- . articles in 'sa:iv u'-e. fp| Scene second tvill opeh witli a grand di-play j tbf Stella, Crape, Cashmere, Delaine, Thibet, fend numberless other PI H A W L $ 5 Shawls from $G up,) which for beauty, sRi-.alness, lincne--, tiriisli, cheapness, and all the 'ibUier et cetera*. exceeds anything of the kind Sefore displayed to the ladies. This scene is the admiration of all who have seen it, botli from town and country, and alone is worth a fisil from the extreme ends of the county. .•Jjjjt Scene third will be an unrivalled exhibition of CLOTHS AND CASSIMEKES, til colors, shades, and prices, of exquisite ma terial, and so beautiful when made up that a young lady of our acquaintance had for several Ja s an idea of setting her cap for a handsome gentleman she had seen across the stit et. thus dressed uj>, when she discovered it was her old beau! Scene fourth will he a display 8\ a choice se lection of KN ZSLMA S.-2 r . ! ■htended exclusively for family use, comprising \e.iv article usually sold in that line, and of 1 c ourse cheap, whether quality or price be cou- ; JSidered. fW An intermission of some time will here he ! allowed in order to give the audience an oppor S®ini!y of examining an extensive stoek of | READY-MADE CLOTHING, *ell made out of good material, and cut out on IHciciitific principles. The fifth scene will present a rich and varied H Queensware and Glassware, iMi side views of Boots 3r:d Shoes, Cutlery, j|H.:tdi<V Gaiters, and sundry other matters plea jfflßing to the eye and purse. I The sixth scene is a rare spectacle of BOVNETS AM) BO .WET TRUMI.TCS, Jpvhich always produces a marked sensation fprnong the ladies, and is frequently encored.— is really fine. This is the general routine of the exhibition, |ul the scenes are often varied by the introdue lion of other aitieies, use.ul, ornamental and ■•leasing. The performers in this exhibition, from the j trannger down, are all unrivalled and celebra- : led far and wide for their politeness and atten tion to liieir numerous customers, and blessed j with the most unvarying patience, which is dai ly exemplified in their taking pay either in gold, : siher, bank notes, or country produce. ■■M JOS. F. YF.AGER, Manager. ■ Lewislown, Nov. 27, 1856. FREEBBRG ACADEMY, I'll 11.11 l HI., SW lll.lt CO., PI. iSt r*-* fPIfTi location of this Institution is beautiful [ *I and healthy, and free from the temptations j i JBd vices common to larger towns situated on ! •public thoroughfares. The course of instruc- ■ 'tlon is thorough and complete, embracing the | usual branches of an English, Classical and j Mathematical Education, and is calculated to Agtepare students lor College, the study of a Profession, or business pursuits. Frequent ! Aectures are delivered during the term, and i practical illustrations accompany each recita- j iion. Students ha.ve access to a good Library. ! . The Academic year is divided into two ses sions of 22 weeks each. The first commences 1 OO the last Monday of July ; the second on the .&?' Monday of January. Public Examinations close of each term, when certificates of 1 and Standing are given to each stu- ' W IIMS - —I'or Tuition, per quarter of eleven wrecks, s2.stj to SB.OO. Board, Room, &c., j $1.50 to $2.00 per week. For further particulars, address GEO F. McFARLAND, Principal. I Frccburg, June 26, 185 G. ' M Salt!— :iOO sacks Ground Alum ■mi# ® sacks Asliton's Fine Halt, * '"WW* " Dairy Fortnleby W. &. O. MACKLIN, McVeytown. f| I' ibi'il 4, 1, lj, H, in. l*an ,S •!, dry white Stuff, jn?t received by Sna2'4 F. G. FRANCISCUS. IRBNSMSJ® IPOTIGMISANSG) SIR ®JB@JB<HS wmrassa ©©SH®^, M GLLBBGTTHI. The Hoy Hogging Alius lor his mind Fa ther. Tiaii'latA.l from t'.ie licrmnn of Kninunm licr, H\* f J. STINK. i " Ein Hinder Mann, ein armor Mann A blind old man ! a pom- man blind! lleliold my father, pesple kind ! See how lie trembling stands and bowed, I His gray head bent beneath the load | Of years. His harp breathes no soft ode. O, have pity ! ; The light of day cheers not his eye, Nor lustre of the evening sky. The bitter tears that for him flow, I The hand that sweetens all his wo, ! The look of love—lie can not know. 0, have pity! j Have pity on my fatiier, ali! j He soon will hear the gentle call From Ileaven, "Come up"—and then his eyes Will open 'neatli those brighter skies. Forsake him not in anywise— O, have pity! Lcwistown, January 12, 1857. GIISTIU&BIIYS.'L THE MOTHER'S LESSON. ' O. but 1 will though.' ' No, no, Laura; you must not speak in that manner.' ' And why no: ? \\ by, tnolher, to hear you talk, one would suppose that 1 were about to enter a nunnery instead of being married. No, I tell you no husband rules me. I shall he my own mistress.' Laura Burke was a young, loippv ere:?- , ture, just on the eve of matrimony, and | like thousands of others, she looked only opon ihe pleasures of the future, and laid j her pi. MIS only for the greatest amount ol enjoyment that she might secure to herself , independent of all oilier circumstances.— ! Her mother, Mrs. Ainantha Burke, had not yet passed life's autumnal equinox, fur ; not over eight and thirty years had as yet : been hers. She was a woman ol strange : beauly, and though the flood of life was vet warm and vigorous, she was s:ili moved by a spirit of deep melancholy that had j moulded her features to iis own east.— : Upon Iter pale brow there were lines of sorrow, in Iter deep blue eyes there was a 1 light that seemeu to turn ail vision inward upon the soul, and over her whole counte nance was shed the uninistakeable shad ows of thought and feelings that could only spring from a heart that had become the home ol powerful experience. •Ah, Laura,' said Mrs. Burke, '1 fear! that you are looking into the ftilure with blind eves. You are picturing to yourself ; only iLat which may flee from \on ere | you can grasp it. You forget that the life i you are about to enter >s one of important duties.' •O, mother,' rried Laura, with a light ringing laugh, 'don't talk to me about duty. Goodness knows, I've always had enough of that. No, no, my halcyon days are eoniing. If William marries me it must be for what I am, and not for what I'm going to be. A truce to your so' erness, mother.' ' Laura, Laura, be serious now, and lis ten to me, lor I can see the rock upon which your bark ol happiness may be wrecked.' Mrs. Burke spoke with a seri ous air, and the shade that p ssed over her countenance showed that she felt deeply what she said. 'You must know that your happiness for the future will depend upon your own exertions,' she continued, 'and just as far as you use your earnest , endeavors for the peace and happiness of your husband, will your own be gained. Laura, you are 100 wilful and I fear that even to your husband you will betray that unhappy trait in your disposition.' • But tell me, mother, would you have me the slave of a husband ? Ami going to be married just for the sake of having a man to rule me? By no means, I know my rights better. He may be assured that I shall maintain all the privileges that he long to me. But in sober earnest, my mother dear, I cannot see what there is that should frighten you. Let ine tell you that William Withington is not the man to look for a mere drudge in his wife.' 'My child, you misunderstßnd me. — You misconstrued my meaning. You know that your husband becomes respon sible for your support.' ' That's his own choice, though, is it not?' THURSDAY, JANUARY 29, 1857, ' Certainly, and he does n because he hopes he shall be happy i:i your sorielv. A good husband looks for all that is kind and gentle in his wife. His home is his refuge from the cares and business of life, and there he looks for the sweet peace and content which no other spot on earth can a>'ord, and if he lind il not there, where shad he look ? (), L ura, I tremble be cause I greatly fear you will forget all this!' •Now. mother,' uttered the half thought less girl, ' you will really provoke me.— What is the u*-e of making such a moun tain out of nothing ?' ' Hush, Laura, t hti v look for yourself ' upon what occurred on last Sabbath even i ittg. Then you betrayed a temper that i made William very unhappy.' ' Well, and didn't lie provoke me to it?' 'No; by no means. lie only wished ' you to wear a more suitable dress to the j lecture.' ' And 1 should like to know what busi j ness it is to him what dress I choose to 1 wear ?' j 'A great deal, Laura. He only request ed that you would wear something more : around your neck and shoulders—some thing that would protect jou against the ; cold ; and surely a husband has a to ; do that.' 'Then let him wait till he is n:y hus | band, and even then I'll teach him that he shan't rule me.' Mrs. Burke gized a moment into tlie j handsome features of her daughter, and then a tear came into her eye. She kin v.- j ; that her daughter loved William Witiuitg- ' j ton with her whole soul; but she saw, too, i J that that love would fail to make .her what ; a good wife ought to he. 'Mother, dear mother,'exclaimed Laura, j springing to the side of her kind parent, j anil throwing Iter arms about her neck, i ... I ' what makes you weep? Forgive me for 1 what I have said, if I can affect you thus.' •Laura, sit down by my side, and 1 will ' tell you something I hat I have hitherto kept from you. 1 will open to you a plge in mv life book that i meant to have kept r • ' j forever close within my own heart.' The fair girl sat down i,v her mother's ! side and looked wonderiuglv up. 'lt is of your father th t I would speak.' ' He died before I can remember.' • The tears gathered mori thieklv in the mother's eyes, and it was some time ere she could speak, but at leu >' i she com j manded her feelings, and laying her hand gently upon her ■.laughter's brow, she coin ; me need : 'Laura, listen to inc now, for I can hold ■ up a mirror within which you may see ! ; what may be your own future. ' 1 was scarcely eighteen when I oave :my hand to James Burke. lie was a ; man of kind feelings and a warm heart, ! and i knew that he loved ine truly and 1 faithfully; yet his h-elings were impulsive, i his sense of right and wrong was keen and unraistakeablo, and in every emotion lie i was sensitive in the extreme. He held his honor sacred, and to small things he stooped not. Let rue tell you that William Withington is his counterpart. ' YY hen 1 married my husband 1 knew j his disposition and feelings; 1 loved him, ; and yet I had resolved upon no plans to meet his wishes and make his home hap py. 1 lorgot that love lias its imperative duties—that the mere marriage relation j may be made the most miserable on earth instead of being the most happy. 1 forgot ■ that my own happiness depended upon the happiness of my husband, and that fie could not be happy unless I too was hap py. A very small amount of cool reflee- . tion would have shown me all this, but I gave it little heed. I did not remember , that the wife's dominion was the home ot her husband, and that that home should he , her earthly heaven. 'I only looked upon the surface of the marriage relation, and when I entered up- j on its duties I only then felt that I had , nothing to do but to grasp at the transient pleasures as they flew past. 'Of course, the lir.st few months of our j married life were happy, but there were , clouds across our way that should never | have gathered there. At length I came to . allow myself to forget some of my duties. In the presence of my husband I was some- j times inorose and gloomy. He gently chi ded me, but I was governed by a false, willlul pride, and would riot own that I was wrong, and I often accused him of ; being unfeeling toward inc. He was 1 harsh, never unkind, and though t have seen the big veins in his temples swell with internal emotion, yet he never forgot himself so far as to use words lie would j wish to recall. (J, God! how my heart shiks within me as [ think how blindly I ! trifled with a mail's feelings. He did j everything in his power to make my home comfortable—-.my every wish was • answered so far as it could he justly done, j and lie was as careful of my health and peace as he could have been of his own. "At length you were horn. I call God to witness that I loved you most dearly hut yet your innocent cries and your tax upon my time and care, I allowed to some times flurry me, and when my husband would beg of ine to remember the precious charge ol my infant, and only smile upon : its care, I inet him with sullen looks and i bitter words. Not long alter you were born my husband took a stand in the po litical tield, and his talenls soon placed him firmly in the respect and good will of the people. Ifck was chosen a member of the State Assembly, and he began to devote ; much of his time to the duties which his i fellow-citizens placed upon him. Instead ! of taking a pride in the talents of my hus band, and lending him aid, I only found • fuuit that he was awav from home so much, lie told me the duty he owed to ins country, and spoke ot the trust his ; tellow-cilizeiis had confided to him, and I that while we owed our freedom and social happiness to the just laws of the land, it behooved all citizens to do what they con- ! sisteiitlv could to maintain those laws and provide for their execution. But I under stood nothing of the mailer, and 1 did not sympathize with my husband in his pat riotic sentiments. This was the unkindest cut of all. •Once, when we were in company, a gentleman spoke to me ot the high posi tion my husband hud gained, but then 1 treated the idea of my husband's neuleet e- ing Ins business for such things with a sneer. He heard me. i knew that James had never neglected his business, and vet I said it. \\ hen we returned home he reproved me for what I had done; I was only angry. He begged of me to remem ber his feelings. He told me I was mak ing him miserable. I didn't care. Then i be assured me that lie would not live with ine it i continued to behave as I had done. 1 allowed this to make me more angrv than ever, and 1 determined that I would not give up to at 1 had done wrong, and hade him ,eave me as soon as he pleased. 'l,aura, I cannot tell you all that follow ed; how I taunted that noble hearted man, how I trifled with his feelings, and how f blindly, recklessly unriveted the strum? links that bound his heart to me. I saw that a change had come over his eounte- : nance; it was deeply pale; and that his lips quivered. Ho went to the cradle where you were laying, and took you up in his arms. He pressed you to his bo som and kissed you. I saw a tear fall from his eye, and I saw bis lips move as if in prayer. Then lie laid you back in the cradle anil left the room. He came not back to me that night. The next day * I received a letter from him, in which he informed me he had placed ten thousand dollars it: the hands of a trustworthy per son, and that I could draw the interest ; semi-annually for my support, i was al most frantic with grief; my heart was al most broken; my head whirled in agonv, but 1 could gain no intelligence further.— From that moment, Laura, I—l—l never saw—mv husband again!' As .Mrs. Burke ceased speaking, tier: head sank upon the bosom of her (laugh- : ter, and she wept aloud. 'And you saw him not when he died,' murmured Laura, winding iier arms a- i round her mother's neck, and sobbing with ' grief. '1 know not that lie is dead, my child,' returned Mrs. Burke, and as she spoke she sank upon her knees and prayed that her daughter might be saved. YY'ith her whole soul in tiic word, Laura uttered, 'Amen!' * * * * * * Laura Bitfke stood by the side of YY'il- j liain Withington, and her right hand rested | within that of the young man. It was , evening, and she stood there to be mar ried. There was deep happiness, calm ! and serene. Thought reigned over her | countenance, and even the brjdegroom j gazed half wonderingly itpou her as she 1 appeared so deeply impressed with tftr solemnity of the occasion. The clergyman who had come to per form the ceremony, was a stranger in the place, he having come from a distant part of the country, and at the present time had assumed the duties of the pulpit for one Sabbath, while the regular clergyman | was absent from town. The magic words that made William and man and wife were spoken, the couple awaited the parting advice and counsel of the minister. lie spoke of the important duties they had taken upon themselves—of the responsibility they had voluntarily assumed. I'hen he tixed his eyes upon the fair bride, and while his j lips trembled and iiis wyes gathered tnois ! lure, he said: 'lo you, my fair child, i would fain give a word of more counsel. You must remember that the IIOMK-ALTAR is under your ministrations; and Oh! faiL not to see that the purest of your affect Tons are kept burning there, so they shall ever light with a joyous brilliancy the life you have cho sen. Oh! could you hat know what earth ly bliss hangs upon your course, you would never—never—' The clergyman stopped. His eteshad tilled with tears, and his utterance choked. At that moment a low erv broke from the ! lips of Mrs. Burke. Jhe minister turned ' and caught her eye. All present wonder- ! ed at the strange scene, but when in a i moment more, the mother tottered forward ; and sank upon the bosom of the clergy man. they were lost in astonishment. •Antantha!' whispered the man, as he bowed bis head, 'Antantha!' 4 -My husband! Oh, my husband! Have you come to forgive me!' 'Yes, yes, my wile. Is there not hap- j pines* for us yet on earth?' The mother would have spoken, but ! she could only cling more frantically to her ' husband, and bless him that he had come ! back to her. None were there but who wept at the scene; and Laura left the side ! of her new made .husband to seek the embrace of her father. At length the mystery was explained l* those who had witnessed the novel scene. But to his wife and child alone did James Burke tell of all he had suffered—how he had wandered from place to place, si>d ; how he at length became a preacher of the gospel, lie told how his heart had yearn ed to see Ins wife, and how he had forgiv en her all she had done, and also that he had determined to see her once more, and for that purpose he had come back. \ ears passed away since that evening, and James Burke and his wife still live, by.t their old age is happy—happier far than their days of youth. And Laura, she is indeed a noble, true-hearted wife. Her 'Mother's Lesson' was her salvation. It satiK deep iuto her heart, burying forev er all of evil that hirked there, and send ing forth into active life all those charms and giaces of the female character that do most adorn the true and virtuous wife. RASCALITY ABOUM )IN G. The Gospel is preached to the people regularly, all over our country —religious papers and magazines are circulated in families, and many valuable persons set good examples before the world—but not withstanding all this, and more, observa tion teaches us, that rascality abounds in all classes of society. Petty thefts are j daily committed—such as robbing money j drawers, stealing clothes, and dry goods, chickens, ducks, corn, and other eatables. Strolling vagabonds, dealing in counterfeit money, and diseased horses, arc all over the country. Gamblers, travelling and local, and resident rogues, are all on the alert. Pious villains, with faces as sancti fied as the moral law, are keeping false accounts and swearing to them, for the sake of gain. Whiskey shops are selling by the small, in violation of the law.— I)rvg Stores are training up drunkards in high life, and affording facilities for Sab bath drinking, which can be had no where else. The rich are oppressing the poor, and the poor are content to live in rags and idleness. Country dealers in produce, come to town and exact two prices for all they have to sell, and the owners of real estate in towns, are asking double rents, to the injury of business, and the growth of towns. Banks and Corporations, intended for the public good, have their favorites, and are partial in the distribution of favors. 1 Families persecute and envy each other.— ' New Series—Vol. 11, No. 12 Individuals slander their betters. Persons ; of low origin put on airs, and falsely pre ! tend to be mora than they are. Cheating and misrepresentation, are the order of the day, generally. In politics,'there is very little patriotism or love of country, while I demagogues seek to mislead, and build up their own fortunes at the hazard of ruining I the country. In religion, there is more i hypocrisy than grace, and the biggest | scoundrels living crowd into d)e Church, with a view to cloak their rascally designs, . and more effectually to serve the Devil! | In a word, rascality abounds, among all | classes, and in all countries. The Devil I is stalking abroad in open day-liglrf, with i out the precaution to dress himself! And if the present generation of men, could see themselves in the Gospel Glass, they are as black as Hell!— Parson Uroivnlow. 1 NTERESTING RELICS. 1 he will of J. Sampson Simpson, a rich and prominent Jew, of New York, was liled last week. Air. Simpson was seven ty-seven years old when he died. lie re trred from tire practice of the law some thirty or forty years since, and purchased alarm in Yonkers, the value whereof has since risen greatly. His property is prob ably worth .*-100,000 to §500,000. We present a copy ot those clauses of his will which are of interest to the public. By the first clause, John H. Piker and Ansel Deo are appointed executors. By tixe third clause, bequests are made to Ansel Leo "of my <>W Hebrew manu script Bible, now in my possession, origi nally belonging to Mr. Joseph Simpson, raj, grandfather; also, the oiiginal corres pondence between Dr. Cooper, President of Kings (now Columbia) College, Dr. Ivenn'rcott, oi Oxford, and my grandfather; also, the original Hebrew letter from the Jews rn China So my father, with his an swer in Hebrew; also, a letter in English from a Jew in China to my father; also, a manuscript-ill unknown characters, entitled 'Ex demo saplentissimi comitis St. Ger main qui o'rbem terrarum percucurrit. I also give to him my cabinet of minerals and fossils. And I enjoin upon him to make such disposition of ntv manuscripts and letters, by gift er will, that after Ills decease they shall not go out of his fami ly." After directing the investment of §50,- 000 for the support, <fcc., of his nephew, Moses A. Isaacs, the will goes on to direct the payment of the principal, after his death, to a responsible corporation in New- York city, existing at the death of Mr. Isaacs, " whose permanent fund is estab lished by its charter for the purpose of ameliorating the condition of the Jews in Jerusalem, Palestine—whose duly it shall be to transmit the interest thereof to Jeru salem, to ameliorate the condition of-jhe Jews living there, by promoting among them education, arts and sciences, and by learning the mechanical and agricultural vocations." If no such corporation exists, and the above intention can be accomplished through the instrumentality of the Jews' Hospital ; Jerusalem, or any other corporation consenting to receive the principal and ap ply the interest as directed, it is to he paid them.. By the ninth clause, §3,000 is bequeath ed to the Trustees of the Congregation Shearith Israel in New York city. The residue of his estate is distributed among the decedent's relatives. The will is dated "the Gth day of Te beth, 5,017,'' corresponding with the 2d of January, 1857. A Surplus of Doctors. —According to a correspondent of the Medical World, physicians have multiplied so rapidly in this country that newly Hedged M. D.'s are puzzled to find a community which requite their services. They are exceed ingly numerous in the Eastern cities, while the West is actually overrun with the sons of Esculapius. The writer says lie has recently inane an extensive exploration to and over the far off West, and finds the condition of things as stated. In all the thriving towns and settlements in Minne sota, Kansas and Nebraska, there are more medical men than patients. One or two invariably monopolize all the business worth having, hut even the most celebrated are poorly compensated, while the pros pect is not bettering. The writer very wisely counsels his young brethren to be come farmers.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers